


Moirai

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP without Porn, Size Difference, silva is such an asshole in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This last night we tear into each other, as if to wound, as if to find the key to everything before morning.”<br/>― Michael Ondaatje, Coming Through Slaughter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moirai

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i know, you never thought this was a pairing. i didnt either but look how far we've come together. this is pretty much pwp so please dont read into the set up, its flimsy at best.

Feitan’s back met the wall with a muted thud and he kicked at the massive hands holding him in place. All around him was the man, his immeasurable bulk sucking the oxygen from the space with its sheer intensity. “Get off!” he snarled like an animal cornered, though he knew it would take much more to get the assassin to budge. “I kill you, bastard,” Feitan spat.

His bared his teeth when Silva only grinned, far too entertained by the resistance. He hushed him as if he were a startled horse, pinning Feitan in place easily with his hands on the smaller man’s thighs. “I wouldn’t be so loud,” he warned, cocking his head as if to listen to a far off noise. “You wouldn’t want the others to hear. They’re in the room next to us, aren’t they? Searching and robbing as you thieves do.”

“I yell and they come,” he threatened, his pale face growing flushed as the assassin pressed closer, a wall of heat and hardness. “You can’t fight all.” His hands shook as Silva teased at his hips and he hid his fists in his sleeves. Already he could feel his control waning, his want building. The arms that bracketed him exuded such strength, enough to hurt him. Enough to hold him down.

Silva knew it and leaned down for a kiss, biting back when Feitan tried to snap at his tongue. “I don’t need to fight them, Feitan. You want me all to yourself,” he murmured, cradling Feitan’s cheek in the palm of his hand as he rained down kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. With almost no effort he was able to lift the thief up and into his lap. Feitan, with little options, wrapped his arms around Silva’s neck, burying his face in the waves of silver hair.

A large, warm hand ran down his back, stroking him like a patronizing pet owner. “I kill you,” Feitan repeated, though even he could admit that it lacked any real bite. He ground his hips down, grinding against the hard cock he could feel building alongside his own. “If they hear, I kill you.”

Laughing, Silva held tightly to his thighs and moved him how he wanted, controlling the pace entirely. “You almost sound sweet now,” he observed as he slid his hands beneath the hem of Feitan’s dress, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his trousers. He tried for another kiss and was gratified to get an eager one.

“Shut up. Hurry.” Feitan was growing breathless, rolling and thrusting against Silva’s front like an animal in heat. They didn’t have long before the others came looking and he had no desire to drag this out. His nails cut through Silva’s shirt, scratching at the iron-like skin beneath. His eyes closed and he moaned into the assassin’s chest, loving the strong hands on his hips, the way they moved him so easily. He almost didn’t care that Silva was dragging down his pants, only breaking from his haze when the man slowed his frantic movements to a gentle grind. It wasn’t nearly enough and he writhed angrily, glaring.

Silva had the audacity to look surprised at the vitriol.

“What’s with that look?” he asked, tugging the pants from Feitan’s legs with little help from the man in question. He pressed a few kisses to his cheeks, his brow, and stroked his hands along the smooth skin of his bare legs. “You were awfully eager before. Maybe you’re getting bored on me.”

Feitan tightened his hands and tore violently at Silva’s top, shredding the fabric as he tried to return the pace to what it had been. “Hurry _up,_ ” he ground out, nearly whimpering when Silva only held him still, his hands burning along his body as he touched him as he pleased, as slowly as he pleased. His head was foggy, filled with want and need and he shook when nothing more was given. Pain he could handle. This was just torture.

The smile leveled at him held anything but mercy. “Why don’t you say please?” Silva suggested, his hands rubbing idle circles on Feitan’s thighs, kneading and scratching lightly at the flesh. “If you tell me what you want, I might be persuaded to give it to you.”

There was no way in hell Feitan was doing that. He glared at the assassin and bit his lip as the hands inched higher, stopping just at his hips. So close but giving nothing. A fire was building inside him and he sweated and trembled, hating everything about the man holding him. Silva’s breath tickled his ear, his lips tracing the sensitive shell. “Be a good boy, Feitan. I’ll be good to you too.”

His resolve crumbled into dust the moment Silva began marking his neck, his sharp teeth nipping and sucking possessively. Feitan clenched shut his eyes and forced himself away from the man’s chest, tightening his fingers into the hem of his dress. Beneath he could feel the inquisitive hands reward him with another encouraging squeeze.

Taking a breath, Feitan hid within his mask as he lifted the hem up, baring himself to the assassin’s steely gaze. “Touch me,” he mumbled, chewing on the words like gristle before spitting them out. “Please. Touch me.”

Silva hummed deeply in his chest, pleased. “You’re so beautiful when you’re behaving,” he admitted, following the line of Feitan’s hip up to his ribs. His hand could almost span the delicate ribcage and he dug his fingers in a little, just enough to feel the bones. “How about you touch me a little. Then I’ll give you want you want.”

Feitan fumed, his face on fire. “Liar,” he snapped, moving to drop the hem back down and hide himself but Silva was too quick. He moved like lightning, his speed belied by his size. The world seemed to shift, coming to a standstill with Feitan on his back against the floor, staring up at the cobalt blue eyes of the assassin hovering over him. His hands were pinned on either side of his head, his dress bunched up and trapped beneath his back. “Don’t stare so hard,” he snapped, trying to cross his legs for some semblance of decency. To his mounting anger, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Now Feitan,” Silva began, his voice colored with the unmistakable tone of a lecture. Feitian bit the inside of his cheek and glared up at the ceiling. “You’re being rude.” Even as he said it he unfastened his own pants, pulling himself out and into the open air.

Despite his strongest attempt, Feitan couldn’t keep his gaze averted. The man was large, massive like every other part of him. He swallowed loudly as Silva pumped his cock, the thick shaft hovering over his hip. A drop of precome beaded from the head and Feitan keened, high and needy as his want doubled.

Silva held him in place, working himself off with a disinterested twist of his wrist. “Will you behave if I let you back up?” he asked, leaning down enough to make Feitan struggle and tug in hopes for a kiss. “I’m not asking much of you. The least you could do is reciprocate.”

Feitan couldn’t gather the will to front. “Yes, yes, let me,” he rushed, yanking at the hand holding him to the floor hard enough to nearly dislocate his shoulder. Already he could feel bruises rising to the surface of his wrists, the bright purple bracelets vibrant against the pale wash of his skin.

Silva smiled at him, at his eagerness, and he let him go, his back meeting the wall as Feitan threw himself down into his lap. He shivered a little in the cold air of the room but he left the dress rucked up under his arms, instead taking his warmth from the assassin himself. Feitan’s hands, already dwarfed in comparison, appeared all the smaller around Silva’s cock.

“That’s it,” Silva breathed, the words carrying the rounded cadence of a moan barely contained. He stroked through Feitan’s wild mop of hair, tugging him down to meet his length with his lips.

Startled, Feitan made a disgruntled noise, his eyes wide. His mouth slowly fell open but he could tell right away that there would be no way for him to take Silva in his mouth. Dragging his tongue along the shaft, he worked the cock as well as he could with both hands. The fingers in his hair tightened, goading him on faster. He hardly noticed as Silva moved his hands lower, down his neck and across his back.

Spread out as they were, he could just touch Feitan’s ass.

Feitan shook as the fingers probed lower, teasing at his entrance with singular intent. He gasped for breath, his wet lips tracing the cock as he tried to cool the heat burning through him like the sun. Everything blurred as Silva pressed a finger inside him, stretching him mercilessly. His fingers were so wide, so overwhelmingly large that each felt like three. His forehead met Silva’s thigh.

“Silva,” he gasped, finally breaking down enough to say the assassin’s name. His hands were clasped around the weeping cock but he couldn’t bring himself to move them. Against his stomach his own need rested, hard and aching with its lack of attention. “I...I...” he choked. The words wouldn’t form, his mind dimming around the singular need.

The finger thrust in, ripping another groan from the thief to Silva’s delight. “You’ve been doing such a good job, Feitan,” Silva praised, rewarding him with a hand against his cock. “Come here.”

He phrased it like a command but Silva was the one who ultimately pulled Feitan forward, dragging him up into his arms to straddle his lap. Their cocks brushed together, teasing and light, and Feitan fell into Silva’s chest a shaking mess.

Strong hands moved him like a doll, positioning him on his hands and knees, his thighs pressed tightly together. Feitan’s face burned at the indignity but the pleasure outweighed the shame for the moment. He bit viciously at his wrist as Silva mouthed along his spine, sinking his teeth into his skin with a gentleness and intensity that stung like salt in an open wound. His cock was hot, dripping and hard as Silva pushed between Feitan’s thighs, fucking in and out in a mockery of what they didn’t have time or material to really do.

Every wet slide brought the head of Silva’s cock against Feitan’s, friction heady but not nearly enough for what he needed. Feitan bit and tore until he tasted blood in his mouth, his other hand scratching harsh lines into the floor. Above him, Silva grunted like an animal, never slowing his self-satisfying pace.

Silva came messily, painting Feitan’s thighs with his release but he didn’t still. With tight hands he held Feitan in place, fucking himself through his orgasm until he felt himself sated. Feitan though lay there, aching and hard and so close but denied the scant attention that would let him follow suit. He scratched angrily at the wooden floors and whined, thrusting his ass back but Silva only pulled away, taking the promise of pleasure with him.

Feitan turned, death and pain a thick note to his snarls. “Let me come,” he bit, his limbs shaking but his resolve as steadfast as iron. He grabbed for Silva’s hand and tried to force it to his cock.

Just as he nearly had it where he wanted it, a loud rumble sounded through the wall at Silva’s back. Though muffled by the division, the unmistakable thrum of Uvo’s voice was hardly something to misunderstand. Silva smiled, his cold eyes fixed on Feitan’s horrified face.

“Anybody seen Feitan?” Uvo asked, followed by a loud crash as he no doubt broke a piece of furniture. There was a murmur of voices, all unreadable but confused. Feitan swallowed. He had been missing for too long.

Silva closed the distance between them and drew his mouth along Feitan’s cheek, kissing him as he touched hot skin. “Still want me to finish you off?” he asked, already knowing the answer. There was no way they could keep this up, not with the troupe already curious and so close.

It was painful, the way Feitan bit his lip as he resisted the urge to throw caution to the wind. Tears pricked his eyes but he swallowed them before they could fall. With an angry groan, he reached for his pants and slipped them on over his need, cursing everything for the discomfort to come. He hated Silva so much.

Just as he was about to stand Silva caught him by the hand, pulling him back in to kiss the frown from his lips.

“Let go of me,” he snapped, struggling to break the embrace. Silva’s thigh was so close to him, brushing his cock. It was unbearable, the stimulation and denial it simultaneously brought. “I hate you.”

Instead of giving him back his space, Silva scooped him up into his arms as easily as hefting a kitten. “No you don’t. Come find me when you’re done. I want to take you home with me,” he whispered, nuzzling his cheek against Feitan’s. He punctuated it with a torturous kiss, stealing the breath from Feitan’s lungs alongside the kneejerk refusal he was about to spew. “Or you could just play sick. Come with me now.”

Feitan lunged for another kiss, only catching himself when another inquisitive smattering of voices bled through the wall. Torn back from his desire, he thrashed until he finally was placed back on the ground. “Go away,” he gasped, trying his damnedest to look disinterested. He snatched up his fallen umbrella and ignored the eyes on his back, going through the door without looking back.

If the troupe was surprised to see him, they certainly didn’t show it.

“Oh, there you are,” Chrollo observed, leaning against the window as the others shuffled around, tearing into the place haphazardly. “Now we can get started.”

Feitan nodded and tried to blend into the background, pointedly ignoring the curious eyes of Phinks and Machi. There was no way his neck wasn’t a mottled mess of bruises. He burrowed deeper into his mask and tried not to focus on how hard he still was, how he could still feel Silva’s strong hands on his slick thighs. Residual heat settled heavily on his shoulders and he felt his breath hitch. Chrollo kept talking, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder and Feitan jumped, only just realizing that he had been leaning dangerously forward. Phinks’s brown eyes were filled with concern enough to disgust. Feitan shook him off and huddled against the wall as if burned.

“…is everything okay over there?” came Chrollo’s cool voice, followed swiftly by mortification.

Every set of eyes were on him now and Feitan flushed behind his mask. He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “I…” he began, his mind racing to think of what he wanted to say. He felt the ghost of Silva’s teeth on the back of his neck, a promising pressure of more. The troupe stared expectantly and Feitan closed his eyes, feeling disgust rise in his throat.

“Are you okay?” Pakunoda hedged. Chrollo’s brow furrowed in concern.

Feitan sighed. “I sick. Can I go?” he asked, looking at no one but Chrollo. He didn’t think he could stand the concern in anyone else’s eyes.

Chrollo stared back for a moment but inclined his head. “Take care of yourself better, okay?” he dismissed, nodding towards the door. Feitan gave some reply, some grunt or sound of agreement and left as quickly as he could without bolting. His face was on fire. He had never been so hard.

He made it outside and when Silva greeted him with warm hands and a knowing smile, he could only give in.

**Author's Note:**

> not sure how many of these ill be doing but if you liked this cracktastic thing let me know and ill make a note to perhaps do more sometime. as always, check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this. until next time~


End file.
